


That Girl Is Like A Sunburn

by Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crack, F/M, Finger Sucking, I Gave Solas An Oral Fixation, I Mean We All Know He's Really An Ass Man, Kinktober, Light Dom/sub, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26784223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/pseuds/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard
Summary: In which Evelyn was asking for it.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Solas/Female Trevelyan
Comments: 27
Kudos: 115
Collections: Fen'Harem's Dragon Age Kinktober 2020





	That Girl Is Like A Sunburn

Evelyn Trevelyan had never before encountered a lock she could not pick, a target she could not hit, nor a man she could not seduce. Not that she seduced so very many; it was more the principle of the thing. Like carrying extra coins in her boot. Contingency planning. She liked to be liked. 

There was no need to actually exert her considerable charm against most of the men of the Inquisition, because they made it obvious they were interested, Evelyn made it obvious she was not, and they carried on as friends. 

A raised eyebrow from Iron Bull-- _can you handle this_?--two raised eyebrows returned by Evelyn-- _no, I probably cannot, but I did imagine trying, thank you--_ and they were in perfect accord. 

She found it comforting.

She found that Solas was a tougher nut to crack.

Evelyn’s typical approach, a one-two punch of white-toothed smile and lowered eyelashes...slid right off of him. As though he did not even notice. He looked directly at her, and his expression was pleasant, engaged even. But not heated. 

Evelyn resolved to circle back after he had the opportunity to observe her at her best. Closing rifts. Slaying monsters. Wearing a dress. No, she thought, it was only the extremity of circumstances that prevented their warmer acquaintance. She had confidence in her charms. 

Several months, several near-death scrapes, and a few moments of quiet-self-reflection later, Solas gave her a castle. Evelyn would normally have considered that to be the kind of gesture that signified the depth of a man’s regard for her, but he did it in the most diffident way possible. 

That was intolerable. A situation not to be borne. 

“Solas doesn’t like me,” she confessed to Cassandra one morning as they stretched their muscles in the Skyhold courtyard, preparatory to their three-mile jog of the perimeter.

“Well, of course he does,” Cassandra replied, startled. “He is always very polite to you. Did he say something?”

“No,” Evelyn said glumly. “That’s the thing. He _doesn’t_ say anything.”

Cassandra’s face was all confusion until Sera blew a raspberry. (Sera did not come on their runs, but she did like to sit nearby and watch Evelyn and Cassandra while they stretched). 

“You _want_ him to like you? Like you, like you? Like..that?” Sera cried. Cassandra’s face cleared. 

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra said with a delighted gasp. 

Evelyn wrinkled her nose in annoyance. She doubted Sera would be of any use in the effort; Sera’s list of elves Evelyn ought to be shagging began and ended with Sera, and there was no challenge in that. And Cassandra’s methods of wooing probably involved the language of flowers or something equally obscure. 

“I just…” Evelyn struggled to explain it. “He doesn’t even look at me.” 

“What about when you wore those tight blue trousers that made your arse look fantastic? Last week?” Sera asked.

Evelyn shook her head. Maybe if she’d pinned the interlibrary request to the bottom of her jacket, Solas would have looked at her backside. 

Cassandra pondered. “Or when you judged the Magister Alexius? I was very moved by your words.”

Evelyn sighed again. Solas had taken transcription without looking up at her even once, and even though she’d taken great effort to arrange her hair that day. 

Sera jumped off the wall and swaggered over, tossing a comradely arm around Evelyn’s shoulders.

“You can’t win ‘em all, Quizzy. Maybe he just likes blokes. Or...elves.” She nearly gagged on the second supposition. 

“Maybe,” Evelyn agreed, gloomily. 

* * *

Self-knowledge was not her strong suit, but Evelyn had been informed by enough suitors that she possessed all the winsome traits of a much-ignored youngest child to have internalized the idea. She truly believed that her continued well-being rested on her ability to win not just the respect but the adoration of those around her. 

Solas’ indifference was like a seed caught between her teeth. She worried at it constantly.

“You’ve got it pretty bad, haven’t you?” Dorian remarked from the window seat. 

Evelyn looked up from the strings of her lute--she played more than passably, but it had been some months since she had had opportunity to practice.

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

Dorian gave her a level stare. “You’ve been moping around in increasingly skimpy clothing, and you keep looking down at his desk to see if he’s listening. So. How goes your quest for admittance to the hobo mage’s linen pajama pants?” 

Evelyn wrinkled her nose at him. 

“He can probably hear you,” she said on a harsh whisper. 

Dorian rolled his eyes contemptuously. “He already knows, my sweetest one. You’re hardly subtle.”

She heaved out a long sigh and set the lute aside with a discordant jangle of strings. 

“I’ve just never been turned down before!” she cried.

Dorian shot her an incredulous look. “You can’t expect to be it for everyone,” he said. “Like me.”

Evelyn gave the man a heavy-lidded look and pursed her lips. “Well, you can’t say there’s another woman you’d prefer.” 

He laughed. “No, when phrased that way, I suppose you win. We would have adorable children, wouldn’t we? My brains, those raven curls of yours. Let’s have half a dozen, just as soon as I figure out the logistics. Forget the homeless elf, come back to Tevinter and make my parents’ dreams come true.” 

“Done,” Evelyn said, chuffed, feeling a little better. The Tevinter mage winked at her. 

She sighed, still. “What would _you_ do?”

Dorian smiled broadly. “Get him drunk, show up in his bed in my best underwear, and hope my performance cures his doubts. It’s not one hundred percent effective, but it does bring things to a head, so to speak.”

Evelyn buried her face in her crossed arms. “Ugh, that sounds so undignified.”

Dorian patted her shoulder soothingly. “There, there. Remember, you hardly have any dignity left by this point anyway.” 

* * *

Evelyn continued to fret on the matter through the Inquisition’s first state dinner. She wore a lovely red gown with such clever corseting and scaffolding on the interior that her modest cleavage more closely resembled the peaks of Skyhold, directly south of her collarbones. Cullen nearly tripped on his tongue when he escorted her in to dinner, but Solas’ gaze never dipped below Evelyn’s face, for all she’d managed to seat him directly across the table from her. 

She had tried giving him gifts. A first-edition treatise by Gisharel. A very elfy set of robes retrieved at great personal risk from the Exalted Plains. A potted violet that smelled like her perfume. He thanked her gravely for each, and did not rush to put out for her. He was impossible. 

Evelyn drank rather more wine at dinner than typical, and by the time that the Fereldan cheeses were removed and the dessert course was brought in, she was slouching at the table. Evelyn knew Solas had no interest in his dining companions--he was flanked by Blackwall and Marquise Dumont--but she supposed he was determined to stay for the chocolate fondue. It was the very latest thing in Antivan high society, according to Josephine: pots of melted chocolate, and bits of fresh fruit and biscuit to dip in them. 

Evelyn tried to be rigorous about it: he was unaffected by her thick eyelashes, her tight trousers, and her cleavage. What did that leave, even? Feet? She had heard about men who liked feet, though she’d yet to encounter one. She crossed her ankles beneath the table and considered the shape of her arches--no better than average, she thought. There was not going to be a lot she could do if Solas was into feet. She could buy more shoes, but Skyhold was hardly conducive to heels.

So lost in her thoughts was she that she sucked the chocolate absently off a strawberry without considering her company. Her mother had been too exhausted by two decades of childrearing to trouble herself much with Evelyn’s comportment, and so Evelyn rudely propped her head on her palm as she stared at Solas.

It took her a moment to realize that for the first time...he was staring back.

She was so surprised that she jerked the strawberry out from between her lips with a wet pop, and Solas immediately turned his head to look off into the middle distance. 

Perhaps he had simply been startled by her lack of table manners. 

But there was a studied way that he now avoided looking in her direction, awkward for the configuration of the chairs, that ran counter to his blank affect during the other times she had tried her luck with him.

So she did it again. She speared a long twist of candied orange peel with her fondue fork, dipped it in the chocolate, and put it between her lips. 

Eventually, conversation required that Solas turn his head back in her direction. This time, his gaze moved past her mouth...and then hung on it. Like the point of a compass. 

Evelyn hollowed her cheeks a bit, sucking the chocolate off. She watched a flush bloom across Solas’ cheeks and spread up the blades of his ears.

 _Well_ , she thought. _That’s interesting._

“Don’t play with your food, darling,” Vivienne whispered into her ear, gaze running directly at Solas’ burning cheeks. 

Evelyn smiled. 

* * *

It bore more study, Evelyn thought. Variables to isolate. She could hardly bring pots of chocolate around to a seduction (or could she?), and Solas had fled during the toasts. 

She carefully counted out three days and then dragged Solas out for a trip to the Dales along with Blackwall and Cole, who she deemed least likely to interfere. 

Evelyn owned a pendant: a little silver thing, mildly enchanted to enhance her stamina. It hung on a thin chain and settled below the dip in her throat. 

Evelyn waited until they were all seated around the campfire, Solas opposite her in the circle, and then she struck.

She picked up the locket and put it between her lips, her face all sweet distraction. It wasn’t a habit she’d ever picked up, but there was no time like the present to start. She gave a forceful suck around the cool metal. She worried it between her full lips. 

Sure enough, Solas gave a polite cough a few moments later.

“I should check the wards,” he muttered roughly. “To be certain they are...functioning.”

He moved very quickly, but Evelyn was nearly certain that he jerked his tunic down over his hips as he stood.

Evelyn smiled. 

* * *

Evelyn had insufficient opportunity to follow up on her findings for several weeks, as she sucked on the nibs of pens, locks of her hair, and the creases of envelopes. All made Solas find immediate excuses to leave the room. 

She considered giving up the game entirely--simply deciding upon her victory. But some imp in her made her continue to pursue it. 

The night of the ball at Halamshiral, Evelyn painted her mouth carmine red, telling herself that such cosmetics were common wear for the Orlesians. It looked very compelling against her golden skin, and contrasted nicely with her midnight blue velvet gown. 

She was very careful not to get any blood on her pretty dress. 

After all necessary executions were complete, she went in search of Solas. She finally located him in a room just off the guest kitchens: he had somehow won the affections of the elven servants, and they had provided him with a bottle of port wine and a large croquembouche, laid out for one at the large square table dominating the room. Solas had removed his helmet and loosened his jacket, and showed all evidence of enjoying himself where he sat near the fire. 

He greeted Evelyn civilly enough as she entered the room, and while his expression was guarded, he did not object when she closed the door behind her. He simply popped another choux puff into his mouth and observed her as she crossed the floor to him. 

She did not bother with smiling or swaying her hips or any other temptation that had proven ineffective, but instead hopped onto the edge of the table and helped herself to a bite of pastry. 

Solas’ eyes tracked her as she put her fingers in her mouth to suck the crumbs and caramel sauce off of them. “Oh,” she said flippantly. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

It was a struggle to suppress a smile as she did it again. Solas sat frozen in place, his attention fixed on her mouth. 

His pupils contracted and his eyebrows lowered as he appeared to come to some determination. 

He licked the tips of his own fingers clean of sauce, neat as a cat, and stood. He turned for the door, one of two entrances to the room. Evelyn suppressed a surge of disappointment; it was no fun, winning, if Solas did nothing but run away. 

She heard the click of the lock as Solas turned it, and the sound made her sit straight up. 

Solas’ movements were unhurried as he sauntered to the second door, locking it as well.

Evelyn told herself sternly that it was too soon to get excited--possibly he planned to blast her into a pile of ash for her impertinence, and merely did not wish an audience for her murder. 

Doors secured, Solas approached her directly, his expression no longer remote and respectful. 

He crowded into her personal space, hips pressing against her knees. He reached up and cupped her face, his thumbs pressing at either corner of her mouth. 

“Your behavior has been simply appalling,” he told her in a mildly remonstrative tone, much belied by the intensity of his eyes. 

Evelyn could not disagree, but she had no opportunity to voice that thought as he leaned in, quick as lightning, and kissed her.

And Evelyn--Evelyn had had sex that was less filthy than the way he kissed her. His lips were hard against hers as his hands held her still and his fingertips tangled in her hair. When she gasped, he thrust his tongue aggressively into her mouth. She moaned, opening wider for him. She didn’t know who he’d been kissing, but he was expert at it, much better than any homeless apostate had any reason to be. 

He pulled away to catch his breath, and he had her lipstick smeared around his mouth. It should have looked ridiculous, but instead it looked a little like blood. 

Evelyn abruptly remembered the fable of the girl who caught a tiger to ride, even though she could not recall the ending. Was she eaten? 

As she took the tiger by the tail, Evelyn desperately tried to remember whether the girl was eaten. 

Solas kissed her again, and this time he released her face to run his hands down her waist and grasp her hips. His fingers dug into the top swell of her ass, and she had the pleasant thought that perhaps he had not been as unaffected by her tight trousers as he had pretended. She let her dancing slippers fall off her feet and hooked her feet around the backs of his calves, pulling him closer to her. He let her trap him in the circle of her thighs, but he tilted his chin back away, pressing his forehead against hers instead. His breathing had begun to come a little ragged. 

“I have offered you the wisdom of the ancients, memories of the Fade,” he said in his silky voice, annoyance drawing it taut. “Magics beyond your comprehension. A castle. And still you want my cock too.”

“I dream big, always have,” she gasped as he jerked her hips to the edge of the table, and she scrambled to keep her balance. 

She reached for him again, but Solas plucked her hands from his shoulders and placed them back at her sides. He eyed the neckline of her gown, then grasped its soft velvet and simply shoved it down to her waist. Evelyn heard fabric rip as the seam split, but she had other things to worry about as the air of the room pebbled her bare breasts. 

“You,” Solas growled, “Have been a distraction.”

 _A distraction from what?_ Evelyn wondered, until his mouth devoured a breast, and the thought was wiped clean from the surface of her mind by the hot tight wet of his lips. 

“I’m sorry?” she said, her mouth automatically forming the apology. Solas lifted his head and vengefully tweaked a nipple. 

“Do not lie,” he said, shaking his head. “Do me _that_ courtesy at least, if you will not allow me any peace.” His thumbs rubbed small circles around her areolas.

“Fine,” Evelyn said, breathlessly. “I wanted you.”

“Yes,” Solas agreed. He gripped her chin in one hand. “And now you have me.” 

He squeezed, and she instinctively parted her lips. He thrust two fingers of his free hand between them, far into her mouth, and she nearly gagged on them. Her tongue fluttered uselessly against his hand, and she tasted sugar and salt. He left his fingers in her mouth as he reached down her body to gather the loose fabric of her dress in his other fist, hiking it up to her waist. 

Evelyn took a deep breath through her nose as he reached beneath it, his fingers expert but none too gentle.

“Fenhedis,” he muttered. “You were not even wearing underwear. This entire evening?” 

He pulled his fingers out of her mouth with a wet sound. She swallowed the excess saliva. 

“The Grand Duchess never noticed,” she said, rather more pertly than she ought to have. 

He used a knee to knock her thighs further apart, and she felt fingers still wet with her own spit trace along her folds.

“You were that certain you had me figured out,” he said, a statement, not a question, and thankfully he sounded a little amused. 

His fingertips brushed back and forth across her cunt, growing only wetter as they went. Abruptly, he thrust two inside her, and Evelyn went rigid from the shock of it. He swiped the pad of his thumb across her clit in a soothing circle. 

“Do you regret acting like such an insufferable brat yet?” he asked, leaning over to lick a bead of sweat that had begun to form at the corner of her jaw.

“Gah,” responded Evelyn. 

The movement of his fingers was more possessive than seductive, but she felt herself responding almost instantly. His hand made a wet sound as it slid against her, and Evelyn would have been embarrassed if she could have spared a single stray thought for it. Her entire awareness was consumed with two clever fingers working inside her and the slow circle of his thumb. 

“Solas, please,” she said, not certain what she was begging for.

“Yes?” he said pleasantly, as his mouth found another drop of sweat. 

“You said…” her voice trailed off. She was certain he had implied that he was going to fuck her, but she could not quite put the words together. 

“I did not promise you anything,” he retorted. “And yet you ask, and ask, and ask for it.” 

Nonetheless, he pulled his fingers away from between her legs and adjusted his position. 

Evelyn stumbled as he spun her, his hand using the wadded fabric of her dress to spin her over until the rough edge of the table rubbed her hipbones. The air of the room was shocking against her bare rear. 

His hand on the back of her neck peremptorily shoved her flat to the surface, her cheek pressed hard enough to make her squeak. Loose curls of her hair covered her face in a faint black veil. 

Solas held her down easily with the one hand, and even with her abbreviated field of vision, she could see him begin to undo his trousers with the other. He saw her watching, and as soon as he had pulled his cock free, he put the hand over her face. She could smell herself on his fingers as she felt the tip of him notch unerringly against her. He slid his palm further down her face, curling his fingers towards her mouth when he reached it. 

“Suck,” he instructed her, his voice hot and near to the back of her neck. She obediently opened for him, sucking his fingers into her mouth at the same second as he pressed forward, sliding home on one breath-stealing thrust.

Evelyn nearly cried out, but only gagged herself further on his fingers. 

She had barely caught a glimpse of it, but she felt barely able to contain either his fingers or his cock. He gave her little chance to catch her breath either--she heard him inhale decisively, and he gave a first, smooth roll of his hips without any hesitation. But she quickly gathered that this movement was all the mercy he planned to offer her; on his next, he withdrew nearly each inch, only to slam unerringly back again. The movement was immediately repeated.

The ends of his belt swung freely at his sides, bouncing against her with every thrust. The rough wool knap of his trousers chafed the bare backs of her thighs. And the table was ever so slightly uneven, rocking loudly against the stone tiles of the floor as he moved. And Evelyn drooled around his fingers, taking it. 

No one had ever dared treat her like this; the youngest daughter, yes, but still a Trevelyan, still a pampered noble girlchild. Solas’ hand on the back of her neck was unrelenting, as was the thrust of his hips. She was going to be wrecked tomorrow. She was going to have difficulty walking back to her room. She was going to have a pattern of bruises in the shape of his fingers on her neck. It was the best thing that had ever happened to her. 

She did not think Solas was particularly trying to make her come, but he was generous enough not to alter his movement as tension quickly wound and then unspooled in her core. Her teeth cut into his fingers as the moment hit, her garbled voice joining the symphony created by the slap of his hips and the jolting of the table. 

He’d been holding back, she thought, because when her body ceased pulsing around him, he lifted his hand from her neck, squared his hips, and pressed into spaces in her body that felt entirely undiscovered. Evelyn trembled, pinned, unable to do anything but grip the edge of the table and take it. 

He rolled up on the balls of his feet when he came, his cock slipping infinitesimally deeper inside her, wet heat filling her. Solas inhaled and exhaled, his belly pressing against her back. He patted her hand where it was still white-knuckled around the lip of the table. Then he withdrew, his cock still mostly hard, each ridge and vein seeming to rub against the tender edges of her as he pulled away. 

Her heart was beating with such a roar in her ears that she could barely hear his words. 

“There,” Solas said sweetly, pulling her dress back down over her trembling thighs. “Perhaps now you will remember to keep your hands where they belong.” He slipped the straps of her gown up onto her bare shoulders, flicked a dangling earring with one thumb. 

Evelyn shivered as he leaned back in, his breath tickling her ear. “Or next time, I will fuck that pretty mouth of yours so hard you will not speak for a week.” 

Evelyn froze up, a delightful frisson of terror shooting down her body. But Solas had already dropped that respectful mask back into place. He gave her a pleasant nod and turned to go, setting his own clothing to rights with unhurried movements. 

_Promise?_ Evelyn thought, watching him leave. 

Evelyn smiled. 


End file.
